


the way your face could light the bitter dark

by Lizzen



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Fix-It of Sorts, Kissing, M/M, Pining, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 22:19:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14482404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizzen/pseuds/Lizzen
Summary: Courage has never been a problem for Steve. Except in the matters of the heart.So, it’s a rather complicated thing when the lost souls are restored, when Bucky returns. How will he face the man he loves, the man he’s seen die twice over?Written Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1





	the way your face could light the bitter dark

**Author's Note:**

> love to th_esaurus!

“Steve--” is the word in his mouth; plaintive.

There’s something “no” shaped on his lips, desperate to be released, but Steve can only stare. Stagger forward with a helplessness that shuts him down completely. His hands touch-- he’s not sure what-- what’s _left_ of him and something rips deep in his chest.

He is Captain America, in the middle of the fight for their lives, and he is a ten year old boy who can’t do anything to save the person that he--

*  
It’s been exactly one year to the day.

With her majesty’s permission, Steve visits the borderland woods. There remains a stench to the place; the alien hoard had been removed, of course, but the smell lingers. He doesn’t mind it, keeps him focused.

He follows his feet to the place where--

He follows his feet and stands alone in the dirt and the dust and the ash.

He breathes in, an unsteady thing, and his fists clench. His mouth opens but the words can’t come out. And he can’t bear the thought of saying his name aloud. Still: it echoes in his mind, a loud and cruel shout and a deadly quiet whisper. The name--

He gets to his knees, pressing against the dirt and the dust and the ash. Gets to his knees and wonders if screaming would help.

He doesn’t-- he doesn’t scream. But a sound does emerge. A cry of loss, of bitterness, of despair.

He stays there until it’s dark, and then stays a little longer.

*  
There’s a stone memorial here and everywhere throughout the wide world with names etched on it. Names to remember.

He can hardly bear to look at it, so many familiar names, so many lost souls. He runs his fingers across the etching with his calloused fingers and knows these names are carved into him as well.

His fingers stop when he sees the word “james” and there’s nothing he can do but turn around, walk away.

*  
Courage has never been a problem for Steve. Except in the matters of the heart. If he had only--

*  
The queen holds out hope. Believes that Thanos can be destroyed and time turned back. “You’ll see him again, and I will see my brother,” she tells him and her smile is like the sun. “And when you do, you will tell him what he needs to know.”

“What is that?” he asks.

Shuri chuckles. “When you see him again, you will know what to say.”

*  
_even when i had nothing i had bucky_ , he remembers.

*  
Thor disappears every few months for reconnaissance and comes back one day with a sullen woman in blues and purples and Tony Stark.

“I have a plan,” Tony says because of course he does.

“It’s a bad plan,” Thor says, but he’s smiling broadly.

*  
They gather what’s left of Earth’s Mightiest and put on quite the show.

*  
When it’s done, when it’s finished, it’s Tony who does the deed. Slays the dragon at a dear cost.

Steve, wounded himself, immediately looks all around him, begging the universe to return what he lost. There is one that appears, a strange man in a strange cloak who reaches for Tony, his eyes wet. “This is what I saw,” Steve hears the man say. “This was the only way.”

Struggling to get close, Steve reaches for the man. “Where is--” he says, near desperate. Unable to think of much else.

The man watches him carefully. “Not here, not now.”

“Wakanda?” Steve says, his voice like gravel.

“Some place infinitely more dear,” he replies.

*  
The jet takes him to Brooklyn, a cab takes him to the location of their old house. It’s condos now with a cafe in the bottom of it. He stands there, staring wildly about for a few minutes before the ridiculousness of the situation centers him, helps him to see straight.

Of course, he isn’t here. How stupid was this idea. He must be--

“Steve?”

There’s a man in the cafe doorway, staring at him. A man with a silver and gold arm. A man with long black hair. A man with the face that Steve knows.

He can’t move, his muscles static, and there’s a buzzing in his ears.

It’s Bucky who moves first, walking in a straight line towards him. Like a predator stalking his prey and Steve can’t move, can’t do anything but stand there. Bucky fills his vision, there’s no one, nothing else in the whole world. And he opens his mouth and nothing, nothing comes out.

Courage has never been a problem for Steve. Except--

“You knew I’d be here,” Bucky says, “And you came for me.”

His heart wrenches and his whole body aches with-- with-- is it pain? Is it desire? Is it--

Words are meaningless, he decides, and takes a step closer, so close he can feel Bucky’s body heat. Close enough that they’re touching, just a little.

Close enough that his mouth is moments away from--

“Are you going to kiss me?” Bucky asks. “Because if you don’t-- if you don’t kiss me right now--”

Something releases inside of him, like a broken dam with water raging out of it, and his arms wrap around Bucky’s frame so tight and his lips crash against his. Fire floods him immediately, starting in his belly and radiating outwards. This is nothing like he’s ever experienced. And he’s been kissed, and kissed well, before. This is--

This is Bucky. The man he’s lost twice over.

And there’s no holding back now.

Steve feels a wetness on his cheek, doesn’t know who between them is crying. If they both are. It doesn’t matter because he’s got a fistful of Bucky’s hair and a tight grip on his waist and their mouths are-- his mouth is--

“Fuck,” Bucky says and pulls away for a moment, his forehead against Steve’s. “The waitress said people have been coming back for the past seven hours, trickling in. She said we’ve been gone over a year. Steve, god, Steve,” he says so fast it’s hard to parse the words. “I’m so sorry.”

Steve can’t think, can’t clearly wrap his mind around anything. All he can do is drink him in, touch his face, feel the muscle and vibranium in his arms. There’s something hot and wet on his face now and he’s swallowing down a sob. Swallowing down words too.

All he can say is his name; a short, a plaintive: “Buck.”

Bucky’s eyes dart to the side and he winces. “People are taking photos, Cap. How do you want to play this off. I'll do whatever you want."

“I just want you--” Steve says and is kissing him all over again, anew. Desperate to learn his mouth, to learn what he likes. To taste him and feel his tongue and his teeth and his lips. To hear the sighs he makes.

“Steve, we should go,” Bucky says finally. “You don’t want to face a news crew right now.”

That’s an ice bucket of water over him, and he shakes himself awake out of this-- out of this _dream_. “Fine, but I’m never letting you out of my sight again,” he breathes. “I’m never letting you go.”

*  
The cab ride to one of Steve’s safe houses is electric because Steve’s hand is in Bucky’s the whole time.

*  
Steve has to focus on locks and codes and passwords but he can feel Bucky behind him, a familiar presence, and all he wants to do is just slam him against a wall and find out what their shared desire tastes like. A wanting that lingers after he gets the doors open, after he checks out the house for any issues or any friends present. After he finds bottles of water and throws one at Bucky before drinking one down himself.

He puts his hands on the counter and leans in, and stumbles through a sentence: “I don’t know how to do this, Buck, you’re going to have to help me. You see, I--” And he can’t. It’s too frightening.

“Can you say it? I need you to say it,” Bucky says with a startling intensity.

He feels an agony wrack through him. Why can’t he say it? “Can I show you instead?”

“I--” Bucky starts but Steve is on the move, pushing in close and gripping his chin in one hand. The kiss that follows is less fierce than before, more gentle now. And Bucky opens up so easily, whimpering as he does. Steve’s other hand goes for Bucky’s belt and makes short work of it. Bucky shivers against him but doesn’t deny him, doesn’t deny him this.

When he’s on his knees and has Bucky’s dick in his mouth, it hits him. Bucky’s here, he’s alive, and he wants to be here. He wants this. Wants him. _God_ , he thinks, and takes Bucky in deeper.

It doesn’t take long at all. After a steady groan to match the pulses of his dick as he comes, Bucky lets out such an embarrassed chuckle. “Sorry,” he says, “it’s been a while.” The fingers of his human hand are tangled in Steve’s hair. He tugs once before letting him go. “And it’s been a while since I’ve been fucked, so you better get up here.”

But it’s kissing that follows. The kind of kissing that lifts you off the ground, makes your knees tremble. The kind you feel in your toes and along the skin of your neck. The kind that mean something; the kind that mean everything. The kind where you say _I never want to stop._

Bucky kisses him again with a sweetness that surprises him, delights him. Makes him insatiable for more. Gives him hope that the soldier hasn’t completely eradicated the man Steve once knew.

The kisses suddenly turn into an embrace, a hug of sorts. More like clinging to him, a life raft in a flood. His fingers dig into flesh. “You died, Buck,” he says, repeating it so much that it becomes noise in his ears. “You died.” Bucky allows it; lets him clutch at him, hard enough to form bruises. There are tears next and, as much as Steve hates them, the release they provide is considerable. Bucky begins to make shushing noises and his metal fingers run along Steve’s arm as a comfort.

“I’m here,” he says. “I’m here.”

When Steve shuts his eyes, he can only see Bucky fall; fall into a valley from a train, fall into a pile of dust. So he keeps his eyes open, keeps his eyes focused on Bucky’s concerned gaze. Tries to steady himself, bring a cease to his tears. He’s better than this, he can weather this, he can--

“Stop being so strong,” Bucky says, and he leans in close for a swift kiss. “You see, I always love the soft parts of you best.”

Steve lets out something that is half of a laugh, half of a sob.

“And it’s that sweet boy in you that I want,” he says, something rough in his voice. “That I’ve always wanted.” It’s Bucky, now, who begins to make short work of clothing; pulling off Steve’s hoodie and shirt. Messing with his belt and unzipping his pants. Like a man on a mission. Like a man who knows what to do--

“Is there any lube in this place?” he asks, not quite a business like tone but close.

Steve nods, tells him. Tries not blush. Makes a pool of clothing beneath him and follows Bucky to the bedroom. Watches him look at the small bottle from the bedside table and smile. “This will do,” he says.

It’s a lot to take in, Steve thinks, Bucky’s ease and interest in this. In him. Being wanted like this is so-- it’s--

“C’mere,” Bucky says, shedding his clothes and pulling down the dusty comforter for the clean sheets beneath. Steve is careful as he gets into the bed, careful with how he takes Bucky’s face in his hands and kisses him, careful with how he gets his fingers wet from the bottle and begins to circle Bucky’s rim.

He pushes in slowly and Bucky lets out such a long groan that Steve immediately feels his dick grow harder. “Jesus, Buck,” he says as they work through it, stretching Bucky enough to take it. There’s kisses here and there, and Bucky teases Steve a little with his fingers running along Steve’s dick just for a gloriously brief moment. But mostly, Steve is listening to Bucky breathe in and out, to his sighs and his moans. To the growing number of whimpers as Bucky’s dick seems to twitch. If he can make Bucky come twice, oh--

Bucky snakes a hand to Steve’s wrist, tugs on it and they both breathe out as Steve removes his fingers. It’s a simple adjustment to make; Bucky on his back and Steve over him. And, _god_ , when Steve pushes in, all he can see is stars. All he can hear is the hitch in Bucky’s breath. All he can feel is--

They figure out a rhythm that works for them both, and then he’s losing himself in Bucky’s eyes as they move together. Bucky’s hips slam against his with every thrust. It’s so much and Steve’s heart just aches with the joy of it. Bucky smiles lazily, and arches his back a little; looks like some beautiful wanton thing beneath him and Steve only wants to make him feel good, make him come again. He gets a hand on Bucky’s hardening dick and squeezes. That wipes the smile off Bucky’s face, and there’s a cry in the air. “You first,” Bucky says. “No, no, you first.”

Steve sighs and Bucky rolls his eyes. “And fuck me harder already. I’m not glass.”

Compliance with Bucky’s request is immediate, and Steve finds himself seeing white at once. It’s a sensation that’s been building gradually, a sweetness that he can feel in his muscles and sinews, and suddenly it’s an overpowering wave of feeling and he’s coming in quick successive pulses until he feels sharp and raw. It’s then that he realizes Bucky’s been saying coaxing words to him and he feels his cheeks pinken from the sheer intimacy of it all.

But he’s not forgotten; he gets his hand on Bucky’s dick and slowly, slowly teases out his orgasm, with Bucky groaning and begging the whole way.

Finally, Bucky lays flat on the bed, looking fucked out. Looking like the most beautiful man Steve’s ever known. Steve rolls over, lays beside him. Looks up at the ceiling.

Something nervous flutters through him. After all this time of not-- of not saying anything. Not doing anything. “I should tell you--” he tries.

And Bucky indulges him. Nods his head. “Yes, Steve.”

Courage has never been a problem for Steve. Except--

“I should tell you--” And it tumbles out. “I’ve loved you since, since-- I don’t know when it started. But I’ve loved you for--”

“You _loved_ me,” Bucky interrupts.

“I’m _in_ love with you,” Steve says, feeling hot all over and something is tingling in the pit of his belly.

Bucky is quiet for a moment. Finally: “You see, to me, it was only a few hours ago that I was in Wakanda,” and he breathes in. “I was in Wakanda and something was happening to me. It felt wrong, it felt wrong all over. And I looked at you. I said your name. And I knew in that moment that I was dying.”

Steve feels such an ache in his chest that he can hardly breathe.

Bucky continues: “And I knew from the look in your eyes, watching whatever it was that was happening to me, that you loved me. I died knowing.”

It’s with a real gentleness that his metal hand takes Steve’s hand, squeezes it lightly, and holds.

They lie like that for some time.

*  
Hours later, there’s a shower and fresh clothes, and he looks at his texts. Seven from Nat; one confirming that Sam’s at his mother’s, another with a “:)” captioning a snap of two men kissing in front of a hipster Brooklyn cafe.

Steve smiles at both, looks up and sees Bucky fussing with a bag of supplies. “You good?” he asks.

Bucky looks up, nodding. And then there’s a wink that makes Steve’s heart thud in his chest. Makes him shiver. Makes him happy. Bucky’s gaze turns appraising, curious; and he opens his mouth. “Kiss me,” he says. “And I’m not asking twice.”

That’s when Steve's smile turns radiant.

**THE END**


End file.
